


impatiens

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e08 Tunguska, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: A night spent in the cell in Tunguska.





	impatiens

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 10th Lyric Wheel, the 'Literary Wheel', November 2002. 
> 
> Thank you to Deb for the two awesome quotes; I ended up writing based on both of them.

_Don't touch me again._

The words hang in the air between them, and Krycek almost regrets saying them. It's cold in this cell, and the motherfuckers took his coat. He's freezing, and the thing that usually helps keep him warm in situations like these--thinking about Mulder--doesn't work when he has the real thing sitting across from him and glowering at him.

Mulder keeps quiet, though, and so Krycek does too. He tries not to look at Mulder, his eyes sliding over every inch of the walls, the small barred window, the ceiling, the floor. But there's nothing there to hold his interest, just the promise of more cold as the day wanes and the light coming into the cell dwindles and dies. Krycek shuts his eyes against the night, black replacing black, and the shiver that runs through him then has nothing to do with the low temperature. 

He remembers-

-darkness, slick and inhuman, moving over him- 

-reaching inside him, unfolding-

-deep so deep deeper everywhere, _don't_ \- 

He comes to with a start.

_Don't touch me._

Krycek squeezes his eyes shut, blood throbbing in his head and pulsing under his eyelids. Something in him can feel the black oil's proximity in this place, almost as if it's calling him. As if it knows he's here.

Human voices here and there, small cracks of sound in the all pervading silence. Fear, loneliness echoing through these walls. Yet the sounds of terror help keep Krycek focused, reminding him that he's not alone here, this is not the silo. Not his voice calling out for help. And when guards burst into the cell next to theirs and drag its denizen out screaming, Krycek hangs on to the screams, using them to banish his own terrors. 

_I am not alone. Not alone. Mulder is here, with me. Here._

_With me._

_Mulder._

Gooseflesh ripples over Krycek. 

He opens his eyes. Even in the dark he can see Mulder huddled in a corner, panic evident in his bent frame. 

_He's gonna break._

_Fuck._

Krycek creeps towards him, slowly, not wanting to startle him. He touches Mulder's shoulder tentatively, and Mulder shies away from him, pressing himself further into the corner, as if trying to crawl into the wall. Krycek touches him again, murmuring softly, steadily, "It's me, Mulder, it's Alex. It's gonna be all right, I'm here, I'm here, I've got you-"

Krycek doesn't know what horror Mulder is reliving, but some time in the middle of his litany he seems to break through to Mulder, and Mulder clings to him, burying his face against Krycek's neck, his breath hot and erratic against him. 

"Krycek," Mulder rumbles, his lips moving against Krycek's skin. His hands clench on Krycek's shoulders, and he traces a path up the pulse point on Krycek's neck, rubs his cheek against Krycek's, the rasp of beard stubble drawing a small cry out of him. "Alex," he whispers in Krycek's ear. His voice breaks on the name, as if it were a shard of glass embedded in his throat. 

Krycek's breath hitches in his. 

Wings in the pit of Krycek's stomach, fluttering wildly. The pads of Mulder's fingers trail heat as they slide down Krycek's back, this barest of touches making him burn with desire and need. Mulder stops at the small of his back, both of them trembling. Stops and looks at him, holding him captive with his eyes.

_Touch me._

_Oh please, Mulder. Please touch me._

Snatching the hem of Krycek's t-shirt, Mulder pulls it up and over his head, taking Krycek's mouth in a fierce kiss and leaning his weight on him, pushing them both down onto the floor. Mulder's fingers clutch at him, trying to find purchase in his nearly hairless scalp. Finally he settles by grabbing Krycek's head on both sides. "Stupid-ass haircut," he growls. "Why did you do it, Alex?" he asks, kissing Krycek again. "Why? Whywhywhy _why_ \- ?" 

Mulder pulls a sob out of him with his frantic murmuring, his next kiss so desperate Krycek can't stop himself from babbling, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh please, Mulder, I'm sorry." And fuck, what the hell is he apologizing for? He does what he thinks he should, what he thinks is right. 

Doesn't he? 

Their hands tug at their clothes, urgent and careless, stripping off every layer until they're skin to skin, breath to breath, nothing between them but want, no longer denied. And here on this filthy floor, here in this dark damp cell in this arid frigid place warmth is suddenly present, and color, so much color, so bright and achingly beautiful, all the shades between hazel and green as they lock gazes and mouths and limbs, as Mulder sinks deep into Krycek, the way it was always supposed to be, filling him with a hurt so unbearable it's more than pain, more than pleasure, more, and Krycek turns to gold in his hands, flowing molten beneath him. He wraps his legs around Mulder's waist, bringing him deeper into him, but not deep enough. It could never be deep enough.

Mulder is brutal one instant and tender the next, as if he can't decide what he's feeling. _Mulder_ , Krycek prays, surrendering himself, worshiping him with his body. _Wash me clean, Mulder, split me open, make me bleed._

Slick with sweat, they slide together, creating their own rhythm, their own borrowed piece of eternity. 

At length Krycek senses it, the tensing in their bodies, the shift in their pace. Mulder raises his head and looks at Krycek, lips parted, breath ragged, and Krycek sees it, feels the scream bubbling in Mulder's throat. They can't, Krycek can't let him, that would alert the guards and then things would turn very ugly very fast. At the last moment Krycek pulls Mulder's head down to him, clamps his mouth on his. And Mulder comes, pouring heat into him, releasing his almost-scream down Krycek's throat, liquid vibrations passing through him and spilling out as orgasm seizes him as well.

They hold on to one another, silent and shaking. They smell of sweat, of sex, of each other. And of too many other things that Krycek's afraid to call by name.

Mulder falls asleep on top of him, still inside him. Krycek reaches for Mulder's sweater on the floor and spreads it over him, knowing they can't stay like this, unwilling to let go. Mulder whimpers in his sleep and Krycek's arms tighten around him. 

He plants a kiss on Mulder's hair, gently shushing him.

_It's gonna be all right, Mulder._

_I've got you._

**Author's Note:**

> "Each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved. Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can have but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible." 
> 
> Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray 
> 
> ***
> 
> "Hey this is terrific!" Zaphod said. "Someone down there is trying to kill us!"   
> "Terrific," said Arthur.   
> "But don't you see what this means?"   
> "Yes. We are going to die."   
> "Yes, but apart from that."   
> "APART from that?"   
> "It means we must be on to something!"   
> "How soon can we get off it?" 
> 
> Zaphod and Arthur   
> The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy, Douglas Adams


End file.
